


Like Spun Sugar on the Tongue

by eratospen



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Multi, Polyamory, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratospen/pseuds/eratospen
Summary: Female weight gain fanfiction. If this doesn't sound like your kind of kink, then this story is not for you.Bethany Hawke always longed for a world where she could have pretty things and live in comfort, but when her sister allows her to start attending Hightown parties in her place, Bethany stumbles head-first into a world of hedonism and romance that will change her worldview (and her waistline) forever.
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Original Female Character(s), Bethany Hawke/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a kink meme request asking for Bethany and XWG. There will be stages to the gain, so readers can tap out whenever they reach their desired limit, but please BE AWARE that if you aren't into weight gain kink, you will not like this story.
> 
> **Kinks:** female weight gain, belly kink, size difference, body appreciation, stuffing, hand-feeding, hedonism/drinking, clothes ripping/buttons popping, likely some stuckage  
>  **Warnings:** mild (consensual but not negotiated) embarrassment kink, mild (consensual but not negotiated) power exchange play, potentially some consensual cuckold play
> 
> **Note:** I deliberately played with the game timeline. The Hawkes are recently risen up in the world, but Marian is already the Champion--and, of course, Bethany didn't get sent to the Gallows. Imagine that the qunari event happened after the return from the Deep Roads and you'll be set.

“Ooof,” Marian huffed as she stomped into the library and slumped dramatically onto the couch, one arm flung over her eyes. She let the other flop back bonelessly, slippered feet planted and thighs spreading farmer-wide—determinedly unladylike as always. “What a fucking night that was.”

Bethany glanced up from where she was curled, warm and comfortable, and studied her older sister. She was dressed in blue sanded silk—something new their mother had all but forced on her, no doubt—the contrasting threads of silver and navy catching the light _._ Even with her choppy black hair sticking up at all angles and her mobile mouth twisted into a snarl, she looked incredible. _As always._ “Bad day?” Bethany asked.

Marian dropped her arm as she rolled her head to look at her. Black brows arched over intensely blue eyes. “Remind me again why I ever agreed to become Champion of bloody Kirkwall?” she grumbled.

Bethany quirked a dark brow right back. “Because of your unerring sense of right and wrong?” she teased.

Marian snorted and melted back into the cushy couchback. “Bah.”

“Because like the knights gallant of old—not to mention Anders—you can’t allow injustice to stand?”

Now Marian was grinning. “Bah!” she said again, louder.

Bethany laughed and set aside her book. “Because your mother and sister long for the finer things in life and you’re willing to be a martyr to make them happy?”

That was supposed to be a joke, too, but it came out too close to the truth not to find its mark. Her older sister’s expression softened, knife-like grin going warm and a little bittersweet. She flapped her hand toward Bethany as if to wave her off, but there was no hiding the fondness in her gruff voice. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Maybe.”

Despite herself, Bethany smiled back. As much as she hated putting Marian through…whatever it was she’d suffered through tonight…Bethany couldn’t help but be grateful and surprised every morning she woke up here. They were still new enough to living in the old Amell estates that she half expected to wake up each morning and find herself back at Gamlen’s—back to a world of being stuffed five to a room instead of wallowing in her own giant bed in her own giant room—back to a life of counting every copper and tightening her corset notch after notch—back to the grind of desperate fear that around the next corner, in that next alleyway, a Templar may be waiting to take her away.

This, here? Curled up beneath a knit cashmere blanket as a fire crackled nearby and her dog snored softly on the hearth? This was nearly everything she ever wanted.

Even if Marian was pulling at her gorgeous party dress and muttering darkly.

“You’ll ruin the silk if you keep doing that,” Bethany couldn’t help but admonish. “Go put on your silly old robe if you’re just going to make a mess of pretty things.”

“If you like it so much, why don’t you take it?” Marian offered, still tugging fitfully at the bodice. “I don’t know why I let Mother badger me into the damn thing.”

Bethany wistfully studied the way the sapphire silk gleamed with hidden fire in the candlelight. There were honest-to-Maker _pearls_ sewn along the back, like the most delicate of buttons. “You know I’d snatch it off your back in a heartbeat, Sis,” she said with a sigh, “but there’s no way I’d be able to squeeze my fat rear into a dress tailored to fit you.”

Marian stopped pulling at the expensive cloth and glared at her sister. “I didn’t just hear you call yourself names again, did I?” she demanded. “Don’t make me come over there and smother your stupid face in sisterly love.”

“Oh no, not the sisterly love,” Bethany mock-intoned, but the momentary stab of jealousy had thankfully passed. “I suppose I could have worded that more kindly, but what I _meant_ to say is that you’ve got this whole tall, slim and toned thing going on—”

“Flat as a plank and just as likely to go warped with age,” Marian countered instantly.

“—while I’m short, plump, and excruciatingly normal-looking.”

“Blessed with an hourglass figure, a wonderfully petite frame, and a giant rack Varric _literally_ wrote ballads about.”

Bethany grabbed for a pillow to fling at her sister’s head, but Marian was already ducking away with astonishing ease, just as quick as her pirate friend. She didn’t roll up onto her feet, however, instead pausing to let out a sharp “Oof!” and grabbing at her stomach.

She paused, second pillow in hand, brows raising. “Are you all right?” Bethany asked.

Marian just waved her off. “Fine, fine,” she said. “I just had way too much to eat. I’m so bloody stuffed it’s a wonder I made it home.”

That…was a surprise. Out of the two of them, Marian had always been the least interested in fine food and drink (damn her; her figure showed as much, too.) Bethany didn’t get many chances even now that they were wealthy to eat extravagantly, but between them, she was the one most likely to want to give it a try. “Where did you have dinner?” she asked, curious. “And…actually, why are you wearing that dress anyway?”

Marian slumped back against the couch again, still rubbing her stomach. “Champion duties,” she muttered. “Or at least _Amell_ duties. I honestly don’t think it matters to them, one way or the other, so long as they have someone new to gossip at.” She scowled. “Bunch of old harpies.”

Ah—the pieces began to click into place. Ever since ascending in society, they’d been more and more on-demand in the wider social spheres. And of course, since Marian Hawke was the head of their family and the Champion of Kirkwall to boot, she was the one who got the invitations to dinners, parties, salons, balls…nearly one every night, if she was so inclined.

…though of course, Marian was _not_ so inclined.

“Why do you go if you hate it so much?” Bethany asked, curious.

Marian looked at her again, expression caught somewhere between fondness and a scowl. “Because the more allies we have in high places, the safer you are,” she said. “I’ll put up with a whole gaggle of stupid dinner parties if it means keeping a wall of friends between you and the Templars.”

Warmth expanded through her, and Bethany couldn’t hold back the impulse to fling herself out of her armchair and onto the couch, grabbing Marian in the fiercest of hugs.

“Ow, ow, hey, careful!” Marian laughed, catching at Bethany’s shoulder’s and pushing her back an arms-length. “I really am stuffed enough to pop—you don’t want me gnarfing all over your hair.”

“ _No thank you_ ,” Bethany agreed quickly, sitting back against the far side of the couch; she combed her curling dark hair over one shoulder protectively. Then, without really thinking, she said, “You know, I could take your place.”

Marian raised a brow.

“At the balls and dinner parties and what-not,” Bethany continued. She paused, then added slowly, “I mean, I suppose it’d work just as well if _I_ made friends with the rest of Hightown in your place. They’d still hopefully come to our aid if we needed them.”

“…freeing me up to spend more time drinking swill in the Hanged Man with Varric and Isabela,” Marian said with a laugh. “Bethany, you’re a genius. Why didn’t we ever think of this before?”

Now that mingled excitement and hope were filling her chest, Bethany had to stop and force herself to be realistic. “We didn’t think of it because it’s a fool’s errand,” she said. “No matter what you think, they really do want the Champion—not her little sister.”

Marian waved that off. “No, they really don’t care. In fact, they’ll probably be relieved. You actually let Mother teach you which knife to use and how not to step on the end of your own stupid dress. Void, you even _like_ to dress up and swan about like some kind of princess.”

“Hey,” Bethany protested.

But Marian was sitting forward excitedly, on a roll. “You’d actually enjoy yourself every night, Bethany. The conversation’s dull as dishwater, but there are some musical recitals and dancing and all—like in all those books you love to read. And there’s lots of fancy wine and rich Orlesian food, oh, just _everywhere_.”

That did sound lovely—perfect, even; everything her secretly hedonistic heart desired—but… “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind me taking your place?” Bethany asked. Even if Marian pretended to hate the beautiful dresses and lavish entertainments, surely—

Marian burst out laughing. “ _Maker_ , no,” she promised, so earnestly Bethany could do nothing but believe her. “I hate every minute of it. I’d rather be causing trouble and having fun with Varric and Isabela than dithering away the evening with a bunch of jumped-up lordlings. You take your cake and eat it, Bethany—I am _happy_ to trade places with you.”

Beautiful dresses and jewels and ribbons in her hair. Dancing and music and conversation about something other than stabbing things. Good wine and food like nothing she’d ever had—nothing a simple farmgirl apostate could ever _dream_. It was all too good to be true.

But it _was_. And it was all hers. “ _Thank you_ ,” Bethany gushed, bounding up to her feet. She flung herself close to give her big sister a smacking kiss on the cheek before turning on her heel and sprinting away—out of the library, up the main steps, and back toward the big chest where Mother kept all the fine silks and satins she intended to dress a reluctant Marian in: _‘if you’re going to dine with the best families of Kirkwall then you must look the part, dear.’_

She threw the chest open to reveal a rainbow of possibilities, her grin so wide it hurt. _Finally_ , Bethany thought, carefully lifting out swaths of brightly colored fabric and pressing them to her cheeks. She closed her eyes in bliss, contented down to her core. _Finally, it’s my turn._


	2. Chapter 2

As fate would have it, Bethany’s first foray into Free Marcher high society was a dinner ball hosted by the lady Rachele Toussaint. “ _A real Orlesian piece of work_ ,” Marian had warned her darkly as she braided Bethany’s soft curls into an elaborate twist. “ _She speaks out of both sides her mouth at once, so don’t let down your guard for a minute._ ”

Maybe that was why she felt so anxious. Or maybe it was the fine marble floors and soaring crystal chandeliers. Everything sparkled; everything _gleamed._ It was like stepping into a jewelry box, and all Bethany could do (terrible yokel that she was) was stare and stare and stare some more as she drifted from one room into the next.

She kept nervously running her hands over the ends of her corset as if smoothing away wrinkles, the gleaming bronze silk refracting each dancing spark of candlelight. Bethany felt beautiful for maybe the first time in forever, her full breasts pushed up by the corset, her long, sunbrowned neck exposed by the wide neckline, her waist (and even hips) made tiny in comparison to the full, flowing skirts. She didn’t _look_ out of place no matter how uneasy she felt, and that was enough to keep her anxiously hanging on through the first part of the evening—drifting from small group to group and trying to engage people she didn’t know in conversation.

“Bethany Hawke,” she said for the millionth time as yet another lordling bowed over her hand with an arched brow.

“The Champion’s little sister,” his companion whispered, loud enough to be overheard. “The Ferelden girl.”

“Ah,” the young man said, and let her hand drop.

That was all. Not _pleased to meet you_ or _welcome to the party_ or even _may I refill your drink?_ Just _ah_ , as if that explained everything Bethany was in a nutshell.

Maker, maybe Marian had been right after all and she never should have bothered _trying._ She turned away from yet another knot of clearly disinterested partygoers and snagged herself another stem of champagne. It was her…third? Fourth? At least one too many, she knew that much—she didn’t exactly have a head for the stuff—but she was so increasingly miserable it didn’t seem to matter. Bethany downed the drink in one long swallow, sputtering and coughing into her fist immediately after and earning a markedly disdainful look from one of the ladies she’d already forgotten the name of.

_Don’t look miserable,_ Bethany told herself fiercely, eyes stinging and fingers curling tight around the expensive champagne she should have by rights been enjoying. _Don’t let them see just how much it hurts. Don’t—_

“You’re Bethany Hawke, no?”

The softly lilting voice startled her, nearly making Bethany drop the crystal champagne flute. She turned, heart thumping, and met big, soft blue eyes. They were nothing like her sister’s own fiery lyrium bright, but more like the sky on a misty morning, ringed by long reddish-blond lashes. The girl (close to her age, if not a few years older) wore her own hair in a swooping wave of golden curls that instantly put Bethany’s own awkward braids to shame, and her dress was the finest, palest grey accented with slashes of dove-white.

She was beautiful—like one of the dolls Bethany had never been rich enough to afford—and she was smiling as if she was actually glad Bethany was here.

“I’m, I mean, yes,” Bethany said. She awkwardly reached out as if to take the girl’s hand the way Marian might have, then quickly forced herself to remember her manners. _Maker_ , she couldn’t let this spun sugar princess think she was some kind of heathen. “I’m Bethany Hawke.”

The girl’s smile widened. “Ah! I was sure I was right. I am Annalise Toussaint.”

“Toussaint,” Bethany echoed, embarrassed not to have recognized one of the hosts. “I…your house is lovely. Everything is lovely.”

Annalise laughed. “You are far too kind,” she said.

“No, it’s true.” Maybe it was the alcohol finally going to her head, but Bethany did reach out this time, awkwardly taking the girl’s delicate hand (soft and smooth, without the roughness of callouses on Bethany’s own palms) in hers and squeezing. “Living here must be like living inside the heart of a diamond.”

The other girl squeezed her fingers back, but her gaze was assessing as it swept over Bethany. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it at once. “You are sweet,” she said, reaching up to brush back a strand of dark hair that had swept free of Bethany’s inexpert coiffeur. “Too sweet for the rest of us, I think. But that will not stop me from keeping you. Come!” She plucked the empty flute from Bethany’s other hand and set it aside with a sharp clink, tugging her away from the safety of the drawing room wall. “Dinner will be called soon, and I wish you to sit by me. My betrothed is away on business, you see,” she added, glancing over her shoulder; she was still holding Bethany’s hand, delicate fingers tangled with hers, “and I will be lonely without someone to talk to. You will be my friend.”

“Just like that?” Bethany asked, dazed but biddable. She allowed herself to be tugged into the huge dining room with its glittering chandelier and lavish table. She even allowed Annalise to draw out her chair and help her sit like a gentleman might his lady. (Though the gesture made Bethany blush despite herself.)

“Just like that!” Annalise laughed. She slid into a seat next to Bethany, snapping her fingers once. Immediately, footmen stepped forward to begin filling their plates, even though none of the other guests—or, more specifically, the heads of household—had officially begun the meal. “Mama always does like to say I need a little more sweet in my life.”

Bethany looked around, flustered. A few people were watching, curious, as Annalise blithely ignored convention and poured Bethany’s glass herself…but a few also drifted closer, taking their own seats at the table as if Annalise’s clear broach of decorum was completely acceptable. Even the host, Lord Toussaint, just shook his bearded head in amusement. “Should we wait for the others?”

Annalise waved an airy hand. “There will still be plenty of food left for the others when they are ready to begin,” she said. Then, dimpling, “Unless you plan on eating it all like a frightful little piggy.”

“Maybe I am,” Bethany countered playfully. She scooped up her fork and took a deliberate bite of food, brows lifted; her head was swimming as the champagne finally caught up with her, and she could no longer remember why she _shouldn’t_ be enjoying herself.

Her friend just laughed. “Oh, can you imagine their faces if you did?” she said. Then, leaning closer until their shoulders touched, warm breath gusting over Bethany’s cheek until she shivered, Annalise whispered: “It would be so amusing; I would love to see you try.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bethany hardly managed eating _everything_ on that ridiculously lavish spread, but by the time she careened out of the carriage (which Annalise had insisted on lending, even though the Amell estate wasn’t that far away) and up the stairs to collapse in her bed, she certainly felt like she had.

“ _Oof!_ ” Bethany huffed, sprawling back on the soft bedspread. She was soaring high, drunk enough that the sudden hiccup of her breath made her laugh even as she clutched her tummy at the hard jostle.

Maker, she was stuffed. She couldn’t say what had come over her, but Annalise’s soft blue eyes had seemed like a dare and a question all at once, and it hadn’t taken much encouragement at all before Bethany was ordering the footmen for this and that and a bit more of _that_ , too, thank you.

She’d drunk more than her fill and ate more than what seemed like _three_ young ladies’ worth, and the entire time Annalise had regaled her with stories of her life back in Orlais; of her handsome merchant prince fiancé; of the summer-long parties and hunts that would take place once the weather warmed; of all the fun they would have together.

And every now and again, giggling a little tipsily herself, Annalise would encourage: “Look at you go! You _are_ terribly sweet, Bethany Hawke. I could just eat you up.” But then, before Bethany could feel too flustered, a wink and a, “But I’ll leave the eating to you tonight, my darling little piggy.”

The endearment struck Bethany, in her own tipsy state, as hysterical. She playfully snorted once, shoveling a mouthful of food into her gullet without bothering to take in the fact that this single plateful of food was likely worth more than her father had made in a month, and warmed to her core when Annalise laughed and snorted back at her, perfect nose wrinkling up like a snout as they giggled over their inside joke.

“A friend,” Bethany murmured to herself now, one hand pressed over her protesting stomach, the other toying with one of the braids that had fallen free sometime during the night. “I think I’ve actually made myself a friend.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Maker’s furry nutsack,” Bethany groaned, stumbling back into the all-too-cushy couch when she tried to rise.

Beside her, cheeks flushed pink with wine, Annalise giggled. “Maker’s _what_?” she asked.

“Maker’s… Never mind. It’s something my sister’s friend says.” She slumped back against the soft upholstery, doing her best not to grunt at the feeling of her packed tummy shifting beneath a shimmery green corset. “Andraste take me, Annalise, why did you let me eat so much tonight?”

“Tsk. As if there’s any stopping you.” Her friend—for they were well and truly _good friends_ , now, several weeks of acquaintance smoothing over any initial shyness ( _not that anyone could be shy around a girl like Annalise_ , Bethany thought wryly)—said. “Sometimes I swear you are trying to impress me with the way you gobble up everything in your path. Those fine Ferelden roots show through, no?”

Bethany rolled her head to look at Annalise, brows faintly knit. “Why would my eating too much _impress_ you?” At least, she meant to ask that—she kept meaning to ask that. Instead, Bethany said, “Well, we farmgirls do live to please.”

“I can _see_ that,” Annalise said, then gave Bethany a solid poke in the middle.

“Oof, _stop_ ,” she protested, waving the other girl away as her stomach roiled. “I’m serious—I really overdid it this time.”

Annalise instantly softened. “Are you hurting, dear?” she asked, reaching up to smooth a bit of baby-fine flyaways from Bethany’s temple. “That corset must pinch dreadful tight.”

It certainly didn’t feel _good_ , though Annalise’s cool fingertips brushing the line of her neck did. Bethany closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath, letting it out through her nose. She’d been making sport of the various balls and dinner parties and salons she’d been invited to over the last handful of weeks (two months? More?), and thanks to her friendship with Annalise, she’d been invited to nearly _all_ of them. But tonight she really had outdone herself, laughing and dancing and drinking and, yes, _eating_ what felt like an endless assembly line of tempting treats. Even when she told herself this was the _last one_ , she couldn’t seem to demur when Annalise waved her hand and a footman brought a fresh plate with something new and exotic to try.

“Orlesian spiced pear,” Annalise had whispered in her ear all through the meal, breath puffing hot against Bethany’s cheek. “Sweetmeat and cream. Strawberry glaze. Spun sugar eggs.”

Little plate after little plate after little plate of incredible Orlesian and Antivan fare, each bite more transportive than the last, and Bethany hadn’t been willing to muster the energy to deny herself. _A little more won’t hurt_ , had been her steady mantra through the evening (through the past few months), but now here she was trying not to burp into her fist, stuck on Annalise’s couch because she couldn’t muster up the strength to stand.

_Too much_ , she told herself, squirming against the solid-packed-stone feel in her corset-squished belly. _I definitely had too much fun this time._

“Come,” Annalise suddenly said, clapping her hands together. “You clearly won’t be making it home tonight. I will have a footman run a message to your Mama, telling her you will be staying with _me_.” Her eyes brightened and she grinned as she stood, flowing pink gown settling in a whisper of silk around her. “Oh, we shall have so much _fun_.”

“I,” Bethany began, hiding another subtle belch before dropping her hands to the couch. She pressed her palms flat and tried to lever herself up again, very nearly toppling back gracelessly once more when her legs refused to support her uneven center of balance (even corseted, she felt _ridiculously_ stuffed and ungainly.) Annalise caught her elbow before she could fall, then slipped a stabilizing arm around Bethany’s waist; she gave her side a subtle squeeze. “…I was about to say that wasn’t necessary, but on second thought…”

“On second thought, if you are too out of sorts to even stand on your own, then you _must_ let me help you upstairs,” Annalise finished. She began leading the way through the remains of the party, none of whom paid either girl any mind. “I will get you out of that dreadful corset and into one of my nice nightrails,” she promised. “Then brush your beautiful hair and roll you gently into bed.”

Bethany shook her head, but leaned more of her weight on the other girl as they started up the steps and the pinch of that ‘dreadful corset’ sent shooting pain along her sides. “Do you really think my hair is beautiful?” she asked before quickly changing the topic with, “Wait, what’s wrong with my dresses?”

Annalise tsked. “You know I do, dearest,” she said. “I can barely keep my hands off it—it’s like warm chocolate when you let it down around her sweet little face. And as for your dresses, hmmm…” She shot Bethany a look out of the corner of her eyes. “Well, I do hate to criticize…”

“But?” They staggered a bit when they reached the top of the stairs and turned to head toward what she could only assume was Annalise’s room.

“ _But_ ,” Annalise said, voice gentle to undercut the sharp words, “nobody but fat, ugly old ladies wear corsets anymore.” She pushed opened a door and led Bethany into a gorgeous room. The walls were pale porcelain blue and painted with swirling murals of vines and flowers. The giant four-poster bed was swathed in gauzy white fabric, and French doors had been flung open onto the balcony, letting in a fresh ocean breeze. Across from the huge bed stood a three pronged full-length mirror—so Annalise could admire her perfect self from all sides, no doubt—and a door to what looked like a truly mammoth closet stood open and tempting.

It was so beautiful and so perfect and so like a fairy tale: Bethany felt as if she’d stepped into a confectioner’s shop to stare at the colorful rows of macarons. And yet she’d never felt so much like she didn’t belong, actually _sweating_ now and out of sorts. “Maybe I am fat, ugly and old,” she said, deliberately pulling away from her friend. Standing in the center of this place with this girl, she certainly felt like gauche, bloated new money in the presence of true nobility.

Annalise gently smacked Bethany’s rump, earning a surprised yelp. She wagged a finger in her face. “You will grow old someday, yes,” she said tartly. “And you will very likely grow quite fat,”

“Hey,” Bethany protested, straightening.

“But you, my sweet little piggy,” and now Annalise slipped around Bethany, one hand at her waist again, _caressing_ the smooth silk where it edged her corset as she circled her. She gave the first lace holding that too-tight corset in place a sharp tug. “You will _never_ be ugly. Here,” she added, and snapped the lace clear. “I will show you.”

Bethany felt light-headed, though she couldn’t say whether that was from the wine she’d drunk or the sudden shifts in conversation. “You’ll show me?” she echoed—then yelped again when the front of her bustier loosened. Bethany quickly folded her arms as the corset gaped around the unraveling laces, letting her (always too big for polite society) breasts tumble free. She could feel her stuffed-full stomach pushing out as well as if rejoicing at being free from its cage, and Bethany flushed up to her dark hairline as Annalise made quick work of unlacing her and tugging the deep green silk shield away.

The corset was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, leaving Bethany in her heavy silk skirt and thin linen chemise. She shivered, arms clasped to keep her chest contained, as Annalise’s clever fingers unfastened the hooks holding her skirt together and smoothed it over her hips. It fell around Bethany in a waterfall of silk, leaving her feeling exposed—even though she still wore a breastband and smallclothes beneath the underdress.

“There,” Annalise murmured, urging her to step free of the skirt. She crouched down before Bethany, golden head bowed, and tapped one calf after the other to urge her to lift her foot—sliding off silk slippers and rolling down delicate hose. Her fingers trailed along the sensitized skin of Bethany’s thighs, her dimpled knees, her calves, her ankles as she _slowly_ tugged the hose free, then stood to face her. “Is that not more comfortable?”

Bethany could only nod wordlessly. She _did_ feel more comfortable, though her head was swimming something fierce and she was sure she wasn’t breathing as deep as she should. Her whole body felt heavy and swollen, like a fruit ready to burst. Her nipples were tight ( _the cold_ , she thought, though it had been a mild enough day) and her thighs kept shifting restlessly.

Annalise reached up and freed Bethany’s dark hair from its careful twist, tugging loose and tossing aside pins heedlessly. “Your hair is so gorgeous,” she said, sliding her fingers through its heavy mass. “I really wish you would wear it down more often.”

“I do at home,” Bethany said; her voice came out a little hoarse. “But it doesn’t seem proper at a ball or…or something.”

“Who needs proper?” Annalise countered. She gently scratched her nails alont Bethany’s scalp, the sensation sending shivers down her spine, before twining thick curls between her fingers. “Just imagine you dressed in deep rose satin—the color matching your cheeks when you flush so prettily—that ugly old corset gone and the lines of material flowing freely over your perfect curves.”

“Perfect,” Bethany tried to scoff, but the rest was swallowed up in her surprise when Annalise grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the three-way mirror. She reached around Bethany from behind and batted her hands away before plucking at the ribbon holding the top of her chemise. It tugged free with a soft _wsssk_ of fabric, the neckline of her underdress gaping open to expose her shoulders and the top of her breastband.

Annalise hooked her thumbs into the neck of Bethany’s chemise and slid it over her shoulders, letting the material whisk down her body to pool at her feet. “Perfect,” she said firmly. “Stop that,” Annalise added, reaching around Bethany to catch her wrists when she started to cross her arms over her chest again. Bethany startled, cheeks flaming red, and met her friend’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection.

They were standing back to chest, Annalise tall enough that her face was clear over Bethany’s shoulder. She was close enough that Bethany could feel her heat, but not so close that it felt…like they were doing something wrong. Especially with her body warm and pliant from so much good food and wine. Still, Bethany acutely felt the difference in power here—how Annalise was fully dressed and Bethany was nearly naked, only her struggling breastband and pantaloons guarding her decency.

Annalise nodded toward the mirror. “Look at yourself, not at me,” she said, and helplessly, Bethany obeyed. She met her own eyes—wide and dark and confused-yet-titillated—and then studied the graceful fall of her loose hair and the way it framed the roundness of her pink cheeks. She considered the heart-shaped face she thought she knew well, and the parted lips, and the way the ends of her hair coiled into her cleavage. She drifted her gaze down the narrow…ish…waist and the always-embarrassing wide flare of hips.

Only this time it was all even worse, because without the corset to cinch her in, her belly was _visibly poking out_ in a round little dome, pushing away from her body in what could only be described as a potbelly. It was flushed rosy, too, the skin stretched and a little shiny from strain. The waistband of her pantaloons dipped down beneath its weight, and a small roll of fat lipped over the edge whenever she breathed. Bethany could have sworn that hadn’t been there just a few weeks ago.

Her gaze swept quickly down, measuring the width of her always-a-problem hips and her perpetually-too-round thighs. Had she put on weight? Yes. Yes, Maker damn it, she definitely had; everything looked both softer and rounder than it had before, and she was a complete ninny for not noticing it until now.

“I need to stop eating so much at these parties,” Bethany sighed, taking in all of herself at once.

She startled when Annalise pressed up against her back (the soft, silken glide of her expensive dress smoothing over Bethany’s bare skin) and wrapped her arms around her middle. Annalise gave her a gentle squeeze, then immediately spread her palms wide over that rounded pooch of her growing potbelly, stroking the skin with a lover’s softness. “Why would you stop?” she asked as if the answer wasn’t nearly overflowing her hands.

She gave a little squeeze, and Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue.

“I,” she began. “I…” What in the void was Annalise doing? Was this a seduction of some kind? Did Annalise have designs on her? She held her breath, half expecting Annalise to slide her hands up to cup her breasts (funny how her nipples tightened almost painfully at that thought) or turn her around and try to kiss her…but her friend simply kept rubbing her overtaxed belly, smoothing some of the strain and making her feel like she’d left her body behind somewhere far, far away. “I, ah. Well, I’m getting fat, like we said. Look at this gut.”

“Yes,” Annalise said, giving her another unsubtle squeeze. “I am looking at your gut, my dear piggy, but I do not see anything not to like about it.”

Weirdly, those words gave her a thrill, especially combined with that should-have-been-insulting nickname. “I’ve clearly already put on weight,” Bethany said. “I usually have to fight not to get a little plump in the winter, but it’s barely spring and already I’m… _this_.”

Daring much, she spread her arms to expose all of herself, breasts nearly overflowing the breastband. Maker, was that even the faintest hint of a double chin she spotted? No, not possible—not even at her biggest had she dealt with that.

“You are perfect,” Annalise countered, hands sliding up Bethany’s rounded pot to her hips. She gave the small bit of padding there a fond squeeze before deliberately stepping back…and giving Bethany’s rump a sharp smack. “And you and I are having fun at these parties, no? You do not wish to stop having fun with me?”

_I should say yes, I want to stop_ , Bethany thought, watching helplessly as her friend moved to one of the huge wardrobes to find her a nightrail to wear. _I should tell her this is going too far._

She surreptitiously dropped a hand down to palm her own stuffed belly, feeling just how tightly packed it was. Maker, she really was a little piggy, judging by just how much food she’d put away. She should feel ashamed of herself. She should turn away her one and only friend…especially considering just how suggestive things were getting between them. She wasn’t supposed to want that.

But instead, Bethany reached up and began unwinding her breastband. “I don’t want to stop having fun with you,” she decided. She let the band fall, hands lifting to modestly cup and cover her own chest; her large breasts, freed, more than overflowed her hands, and Annalise smiled wide as she turned, holding out a beautifully embroidered white-and-pink nightrail. “Even if I blow up so big no one wants to be seen with me anymore.”

“Dearest Bethany,” Annalist promised, sliding the nightrail over Bethany’s head and helping her thread her arms through it. It was just a little too snug at the chest, belly, and arse, the fabric clinging subtly to her much more exaggerated curves. “I will always want to be see with you, _especially_ if you blow up big.” She playfully puffed out her cheeks and rounded her arms forward, mimicking a massive gut. “How funny and sweet my piggy will be then, yes? Draped in silk and round enough I can pillow my head on her soft belly whenever I please.”

“Very funny,” Bethany muttered, but she smiled as Annalise took her hand and led her to the bed—where she stayed the night, curled just a little too close to her Orlesian friend, her stuffed belly pooching out between them—

—and where she stayed many nights after as dinner melted into ball melted into salon melted into dinner, and that little potbelly continued to swell and swell and swell.


	5. Chapter 5

Surprisingly, it was Marian who said something first.

“You’re going out again?” she asked, looking up from the scattered manuscript pages. Either Anders’ manifesto or Varric’s latest story—Bethany wasn’t sure which, and she was already running late enough that she didn’t want to risk asking. “I thought we were staying home tonight.”

“You are staying home tonight,” Bethany said, pausing by the mirror long enough to check her hair. It was left long and loose about her face in dark (chocolate) waves, only part of it pulled up in a clever twist. Just the way Annalise most liked it. “ _I_ am going out dancing.”

Marian hummed thoughtfully in response. Paper rustled, as if she’d gone back to reading, but Bethany could see those lyrium-bright eyes on her in the reflection. They swept down the (pale blue, this time) line of her loosely draping silk bodice before pausing where hips met waist, then again at the flare of her arse. The material didn’t cling or anything so lewd as that, but it certainly was less…structured than the old-fashioned gowns her mother had originally convinced her to buy. It _showed_ more, neckline wide and low, arms all but bare, curves lovingly outlined.

Curves and curves and yet more curves.

“Maybe,” Marian said with surprising diplomacy, “you should stay in a few more nights out of the week. Give the Hightown life a break now and again.”

_Lay off the food and wine_.

Bethany felt herself flushing at the obvious implied criticism, and she busied herself with smoothing down baby-fine hairs at her temples and crown to hide her reaction. Instinctively, she sucked in her stomach, flattening the soft little pooch she’d only just noticed this morning. Not the side effect of bloat, not the immediate aftermath of a night of hedonism: no, this bit of softness was abiding. A subtle rounding of her belly and hips and arse and thighs. A slightly thicker roll at the waist. A… _padding_ , as all those nights melted into a gain finally obvious enough for people other than Annalise to actually notice.

She was almost as heavy now as she’d even been at the height of winter excess, the little pooch of her belly a warning of just how much worse it all could get.

Maker, maybe Marian was right. Maybe she should lay off the food and wine for a while. Lay off of Annalise.

Strangely, the thought of missing even a night with her friend sent a sharp pang through her heart, and Bethany turned with a too-wide smile, keeping her stomach sucked determinedly in. “And miss my chance to schmooze with the rich and powerful?” she said as breezily as possible. “I thought gaining allies was the whole point.”

“Gaining allies, sure,” Marian said, still watching Bethany closely. Her expression was dubious. “Not gaining, ah…”

Bethany swooped down to give her a smacking kiss before hurrying past toward the door and freedom. “Speaking of the party, they’ll be waiting for me,” she called back with a wave over her shoulder. “Good night—don’t wait up.”

“Good night,” she heard Marian call back, just as she pulled the door shut. It clanged with a heavy sense of finality, and Bethany leaned back against it for a moment, letting out her breath in a gust—and loosening the tight clench of her stomach muscles. She watched as that little mound of belly pushed forward against delicate blue silk, gently rounding out the silhouette. Subtle enough, she told herself, that Marian (and Annalise) were probably the only ones who even saw.

“It’s fine,” Bethany told herself, fingers lightly brushing over the proof of her gluttony before quickly dropping away as if she’d been burned. She looked around, making sure no one was on the street to see her, and determinedly took off for the Hightown home where her friend, and a night of merriment, was waiting. “Probably no one will even notice.”


	6. Chapter 6

And no one did notice—or at least no one said anything to her—again for a while. Truthfully, Bethany didn’t give them much of a chance. She spent nearly every night out at one party or another, laughing and dancing and giving in to every bit of hedonism her Orlesian friend all but dared her into. More nights than she cared to remember, she reached past the witching hour too tipsy and stuffed and exhausted to roll herself home, letting Annalise coax her upstairs where she undressed her, brushed her hair, rubbed and stroked her straining gut as they dozed together on that big, tempting bed.

Days slipped past like this, and Bethany was barely _home_ more often than not.

But she did eventually need to return to the Amell estate for new clothes and such, which is how her mother found her standing in the middle of her room, cursing under her breath as she tried to squeeze back into her old chemise.

It was caught around her chest and arms, thin fabric stretched taut as Bethany struggled to get the leverage she needed to yank it on. She wriggled and swayed with the effort, exposed belly jiggling faintly with each jerk. She’d given up and gotten herself new pantaloons a few weeks ago, aware of how close her widening rear was getting to splitting a seam. She’d always had a habit of putting on weight along her bottom half, so even though she’d winced as she sized up past the biggest knickers she’d ever worn, Bethany had still managed to convince herself everything was under control.

But now, with her upper body squeezed sausage-tight into the chemise that had never failed to fit her (with room to spare!) before, Bethany was being forced to reevaluate that thought.

“Just…get…on…you…bastard,” she gasped, grabbing the hem and yanking hard. It squeezed past her overflowing breastband and finally popped onto her upper half with only a minor screaming of the seams. Bethany didn’t need a mirror to know her softer arms were pouring out the armholes or that the whole thing was caught rucked up over the rounded jut of her belly and butt. She could _feel_ in that moment just how much plumper she was than the girl who used to wear this damn thing near every day, and that pure physical awareness was…

…oddly exciting, in a weirdly squirmy way.

She squeezed her thighs together, embarrassed by the way heat coiled in her belly, and grabbed at the hem of her chemise to try to coax it down over her softer tummy. It wasn’t quite a paunch yet, and certainly not a belly—she could tell herself that much. But as the gathered swell of fat was pressed down by the far-too-tight fabric of her chemise, Bethany was having a damn hard time telling herself she wasn’t getting too chubby too fast.

_It’s fine,_ she tried to remind herself, squirming and wriggling her way into the sausage casing of her underdress. _It’s not a big deal._

A throat cleared, and Bethany jerked her head up, caught with half her soft belly exposed, round thighs practically exploding out from the flare of her hips. Mortifyingly, _Leandra_ stood in the now-open doorway, her arms filled with colorful silk dresses, her brows rising sharply as she took in Bethany’s plight.

Dimpled knees and thighs that threatened to seam together…a very obvious roll of flesh pressing over the waist of her pantaloons as she sucked in a breath…the deepening belly button and chubby belly even now _jiggling_ as she moved…round arms barely pried free and a chin she told herself was _not_ just a little softer than normal.

Instinctively, Bethany did what she always did whenever she had to pass her mother or sister: she sucked in her belly as if that could somehow hide the weight she was gaining. But for the first time, no matter how hard she sucked in, that little pooch of fat stayed stubbornly visible, rounding out in front of her as if daring Leandra to comment.

Her mother cleared her throat. “The seamstress brought your dresses,” she said, stepping into Bethany’s room and quietly shutting the door. “You had them let out?”

_I had to_ , Bethany thought, flush deepening. She gave her chemise another surreptitious tug when her mother passed to lay the dresses on Bethany’s bed. _They barely fit me anymore._ “A little,” Bethany said aloud; her voice sounded damningly hoarse. “They weren’t quite the right fit.”

“Hmm.”

There was a whole argument in that one little noise, and Bethany inwardly winced as she finally forced the chemise past her tummy and thighs. It should have fallen loosely down her thighs, but instead it clung like a second skin (a casing) barely past her privates. Damning in just how _tight_ it was. The tops of her breasts bulged out the neckline, and if she took too deep a breath, the whole thing would split down the sides. Maker, she could _hear_ the fabric beginning to rip.

_Go on_ , Bethany thought, mortified but trying to hold her ground, even as her mother looked her over critically—taking in every new, straining inch of her. _Tell me I’m letting myself go. Tell me I’m going to make myself fat. Tell me I need to get myself in check again._ She was ready to argue back no matter what her mother said, temper rising at all the imagined slights. Because _yes_ , fine, she was probably already verged right onto plump, and yes, all right, if she continued like this, she would absolutely make herself fat. Hugely fat, even, her belly blowing up to ridiculous proportions as Annalise whispered confusing sweetness in her ear and rubbed temptingly at the growing swell of her bloated gut.

Bethany was tempting fate in the worst kind of way, but she was doing it—she had _started_ doing it, at the very least—in an attempt to keep them all safe, and if Leandra couldn’t recognize that…

She was so ready to bite her mother’s head off at the first unkind suggestion that Leandra’s actual words nearly knocked her onto her rump. “Well, we’ll have to get a new round of dresses—and underthings, clearly—made before the real party season swings into high gear. Summer,” Leandra added, moving forward and reaching with firm but not unkind hands to grasp the hem of that ridiculously tight chemise, “is when most of the best Marcher and Orlesian families come to the area to host months-long hunts and house parties and balls. My own mother let me go once, when I was a bit younger than you.”

She tugged again, sharper, and the seam gave with a sudden ear-splitting _scream_. The release of pressure was instant, Bethany’s caged tummy rounding forward as the seam split all the way to her waist; she let out a held breath, even as she stared at her mother in shock.

Leandra wasn’t going to…tell her to stop? She wasn’t going to mention all the weight she was putting on?

“I had the time of my life,” her mother mused, giving the ripped cloth another tug, the seam unraveling under her hands to release more of Bethany’s encased flesh. “Even though I was nowhere near as popular as you’re becoming. That friend of yours…”

“Annalise,” Bethany answered lightheadedly, allowing her mother to help pull the ruined fabric over her head and off her.

Leandra smiled. “Annalise, of course. Her family is one of the richest and most well-connected in the area. She’s such a wonderful companion for you to have. Has she…” Leandra hesitated a moment, hands full of ruined underdress her youngest daughter was now too fat to wear. “Has she officially invited you to come with her for the summer?”

“No,” Bethany said, so off-center she didn’t know how to react.

“Well,” Leandra said, balling up the chemise and setting it aside. She lifted one of the bright dresses from Bethany’s bed, critically checking the seams where the fabric had been let out. “She certainly will in time, and we must make sure you have more than enough dresses and pretty underthings for the whole length of your stay. She’s not a connection you want to lose, Bethany. No matter what the…effect.”

A quick glance at Bethany standing there in her too-tight breastband and pantaloons, growing belly bare, was more telling than any euphemism.

Bethany’s shoulders rounded forward as she understood her mother. Leandra clearly saw how much Bethany’s hobnobbing with the Hightown elite and friendship with Annalise was impacting her, but in her mother’s eyes, none of that mattered compared to the security that friendship was netting them. The way Leandra went on about ordering her clothes with laces inserted along the sides made it _more_ than clear that she fully expected Bethany to keep going on as she was—and keep getting fatter all the while.

_That should upset me_ , Bethany thought as her mother began making a list of all the things she’d need whenever Annalise inevitably invited her to join the summer hunts. _Why doesn’t that upset me?_


	7. Chapter 7

It was Isabela, of course, who put it clearest.

“You’re getting quite plump there, Kitten,” the pirate said as Bethany searched for a seat, her dark eyes trained very obviously on Bethany’s generously rounding hourglass.

Bethany froze in place, aware of eyes turning toward her: Anders, Sebastian, Aveline, Merrill, Varric, even Fenris taking in what was now quite impossible to hide.

It was late and Bethany was (for once) spending time with her sister’s friends at the Hanged Man. Annalise had been called out to the countryside for the past few days to help attend to a few matters at the manor home where a summer-long Orlesian bacchanal would be held…which Bethany _still_ hadn’t received an invitation to, no matter how many times her mother insisted it was coming.

She’d figured she’d be in for a night of drinking swill and playing cards and trying not to miss her friend. She hadn’t expected _this_.

Isabela leaned forward and gave her tummy a deliberate _poke_. Her finger dug into the softening flesh there, sinking mortifyingly deep. Even as Bethany instinctively sucked in, she knew it wouldn’t do any good—she _was_ , without a doubt, well and truly chubby now. Softer by at least twenty pounds than she’d ever been, even at her heaviest.

“Look at that muffin,” Isabela continued, giving her side a pinch. The smile spreading across her face was wicked with delight. “I haven’t seen rolls like that outside a fussy Orlesian bakery. Maybe we should change your nickname; what do you think, Varric? Does _Muffin_ hold the same ring to it?”

“Isabela,” Marian said, a flat warning in her voice. She set down her hand of cards, leaning forward with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Leave my sister alone.”

Merrill looked between them, blinking. “Yes, you really ought not to fat-shame Bethany,” she said brightly. “Especially when she looks so lovely and soft all puffed out like that.”

That nearly made Bethany laugh, even as her cheeks heated so hot she swore she might combust. A flare of a very different kind of heat simmered in her gut—the kind of confusing churn that she usually associated with Annalise’s whispered words and caressing hands—and Bethany cleared her throat as she finally took a seat next to Aveline. “Yes, well,” she said, feeling particularly _puffed out_ tonight as her dress creased around her rump, drawing tight over the line of her belly. “Thank you for that, I suppose, Merrill.”

“You are welcome!” Merrill chirped.

Marian studied Bethany for a moment, as if making sure she were really all right, before turning to say something in a low undertone to Isabela.

_Probably telling her off for telling the truth_ , Bethany thought, subtly sneaking a hand up to rub a palm quick-and-light over the curve of her belly. She’d begun doing that more and more often now that it was clear her gut was a permanent, growing fixture on her body. Sometimes she even imagined she were Annalise, touching the swell of her chubby potbelly. Massaging away the ache and stirring forbidden fires that licked through her blood, made the rest of her feel heavy with golden weight even as her heart beat wings and soared.

Bethany shifted in her seat, chubby thighs spreading subtly as she gave her (small, really; not at all too big) belly a little press, feeling the buttery soft give of fat. It was often rock-hard when Annalise rubbed it for her. Would Annalise like to touch it now? Try to get a small handful of flesh? Give it a bit of a wobble as she tsked and pretended to be disapproving: _my dear little piggy, whatever will I do now that you are growing so huge?_ _Will I have to roll you to bed, my fat little love?_

She squeezed her thighs together at the stab of heat, gasping quietly to herself in shock at her own reaction.

Misunderstanding, Aveline leaned closer to murmur in Bethany’s ear. “Ignore that harpy,” she said. “But I can help you lose all that weight, if you’d like. Come to training with me—we’ll whip you back into shape in no time.”

_Oh I highly doubt that._ “Thank you, Aveline,” Bethany said, forcing herself to drop her hand, even though no one could see what it was she had been doing. It felt wrong to get that strange thrill here without Annalise around, anyway. This, strange as it was, was _their_ thing. “But I think…” She swallowed, then lifted her chin, making sure her voice was loud enough for all of them to hear. “I’m very happy, actually, in my skin. Isabela can say whatever she wants—I find it funny.”

And weirdly hot…but there was no way she was ready to admit _that_ , even fully to herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Bethany was so pathetically grateful the night Annalise _finally_ returned from overseeing preparations at the summer manor that she may have…possibly…outdone herself at last.

“ooooh, maker,” she groaned, voice gone small and winded. She was already sprawled across Annalise’s big bed, hair loose across the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Somehow she’d managed to squeeze herself into the delicate pink-and-white nightrail she’d been wearing every night Annalise had her over, but it had gone nearly sheer in places, it was stretched so thin.

Even before Bethany had begun gaining weight, there had been a solid difference in their body types: Annalise willowy, Bethany an hourglass of supple curves. Now that she was officially plump, it was a shock she’d been able to squirm into the thing at all…especially with her belly stuffed the way it was, full to the brim with too much wine and Orlesian treats.

She shifted, heels digging into the mattress, and arched subtly to try to alleviate some of the pressure sitting like a stone in her gut. Her hands curled around the packed-solid thrust of it, and she pitifully tried to muffle a grunt and a burp.

Standing by the four-poster, dressed in her own gauzy (loose) nightrail, Annalise giggled. “My, my, look at my darling little piggy,” she crooned, leaning over to brush loose strands of hair from Bethany’s sweaty forehead. She smiled when their eyes met. “Laid low by her own gluttony. Tsk.”

Andraste take her, that was true enough. The dinner party had been long and full of dazzling conversation and…flirtation? She’d felt reckless and eager to please, laughing at all of her friend’s jokes, eating everything put in front of her, drinking glass after glass of sparkling wine and filling up like a bubble until she felt ready to pop.

She’d barely been able to make it up the stairs, even with Annalise’s arm around her waist, and Bethany had all but rolled in an ungainly slump onto the bed, expensive borrowed nightgown creaking in warning. The feel of that fine material stretched skin-tight over her body (outlining the swell of her breasts with their tight pink nipples, the thrust of her globular over-stuffed belly, the deepening rolls at her sides and the roundness of her hips) reminded Bethany, strangely, of the night her mother had caught her trying to stuff herself into her chemise. Only this time, when she closed her eyes, it was Annalise grabbing the hem and ripping the damn thing off her. It was Annalise freeing her body to both of their unending delight.

It was always, always Annalise.

“so…full…” Bethany groaned, arching her back to thrust her rounded gut into the air, silently asking for soothing hands to rub away the pain. She’d dreamed of those gentle hands for days now, waiting for Annalise to return from the countryside. “feel like…i’m…going to…explode.” Then, slowly blinking open her eyes and meeting soft blue, Bethany said, deliberately: “maker I am…so… _fat_.”

She had no idea what had overcome her, and her whole body seized up in embarrassment at the thought even as she lay panting and sweating and, yes, swollen nice and _fat_ on Annalise’s bed. Stuffed full as she was, Bethany felt absolutely mammoth, and the conflicting feelings of shame and desire whipped through her in endless waves. The nightrail creaked in protest as she shifted, and Bethany swore she saw Annalise’s bright blue eyes darken, the pupil expanding as she watched Bethany struggle to get comfortable under the weight of her own gluttony.

Slowly, very slowly, one of Annalise’s hands dropped to the crest of Bethany’s belly. _At last_. But instead of rubbing the tight skin, she slid her palm down the rounded curve of her to deliberately cup and heft her weight. “I have seen fatter,” Annalise said dismissively.

She let go and turned away.

_Wait…what?_ Bethany struggled to rise up onto an elbow, watching her friend walk away—utterly dumbfounded. But before she could think of what to say, Annalise turned back, finger to her chin as if something had just occurred to her. “But,” she said slowly, accent seeming to thicken around the words, “I would be impressed if you managed to eat just a little bit more.”

Eat _more?_ That was physically impossible—she was practically pregnant-looking now, potbelly swollen out by too much food into an impressive paunch. She couldn’t possibly fit another bite. “annalise, i don’t…”

Annalise snapped her fingers, pretending not to hear. “I will have something brought up,” she said. “And we will get you out of that tight thing. It must be so very hard for you to breathe.”

_That_ had Bethany’s head swimming with tempting, forbidding visions again, and she fell back amongst the pillows with a nod before she could think better of it, already swallowed up by the thought of Annalise peeling the skin-tight nightrail off her swollen body…running delicate hands over straining skin…mouthing across hungry flesh…

_Maker_.

She gasped aloud, squeezing her thighs together at the wicked, wicked thoughts, even as Annalise slipped briefly from the room to ring up her servants. Alone, Bethany reached up to rub her own palms over her globular gut, massaging the straining heft before sliding up to cup and _squeeze_ her breasts. They were swollen, too, bigger than they’d ever been—and Maker knew they’d never been _small_. Her nipples had been tight little beads of pressure for what felt like hours already, so very obvious in Annalise’s nightrail—lovingly outlined in lace and impossible to ignore.

Would Annalise notice? Would her fingertips ‘accidentally’ trail over them as she helped Bethany? Would she want to bend down and have a taste?

Bethany let her hands drop, breath coming in ragged pants that turned into a sharp cry when the door opened and a strange man entered. He was bent over some kind of tray, but his gaze flicked up to Bethany lying like a bloated whale there on the bed, and she instinctively tried to cover herself. Her packed belly actually _swayed_ in response to her sudden movement, and Bethany swore she saw his mouth curve into a little smirk before he looked away—focusing on the little silver platters he was laying out for a delighted-looking Annalise.

“Yes, thank you, that’s fine,” she said, shooing the servant off. He left with a quick backward glance at Bethany, that smirk only growing, as if he knew all this food was for her. Knew exactly all the filthy things crowding inside her head.

She felt like her whole body was on fire, she was blushing so hard, but Annalise simply grabbed one of the plates and clambered up onto the bed with her. Her smile was wide and sweet as she kneeled towering above Bethany, her golden hair pulled back into a single long braid. “So remember when I said we would take off that awfully tight nightgown?”

Bethany tried to nod, hands still hovering over herself, as if the servant might come back to gawk at her swollen body at any moment.

A dimple flashed on Annalise’s cheek. “Well, we _will_ , but we it will be a game.” She leaned in, a brightly colored macaron in one hand, and popped it into Bethany’s mouth without warning. “The game will be to see how much it takes before you get so fat you _pop_ your way right out of it.” She laughed, snagging another macaron as Bethany instinctively chewed and swallowed in silent shock. “Won’t that be fun?”

_Is she…going to feed me?_ There was a stark deviance to that idea that had Bethany’s inner Ferelden farmgirl protesting, and yet she found herself obediently opening her mouth for another treat, letting her friend press the sugary confection past her lips.

She chewed and swallowed slowly, mind turning over everything that was happening—all the strange sensations—even as Annalise fed her another, and then another. By the time Bethany had eaten her sixth macaron, she was settled into the idea that this was actually happening, and by the time she’d devoured her tenth, she was fully engaged with the game. Her own hands slid up, smoothing over the impressive dome of her belly, and she let her thighs spread to better settle its weight…shuddering deep inside when Annalise’s blue eyes sharpened on her.

The nightrail creaked, seams protesting loudly as Bethany opened her mouth for another, _another_. She could practically feel herself expanding, fattening, each bite taking her closer to that point of no return where she’d no longer be the sort of plump that could _work it off_ with Aveline, but well and truly _fat._ Massive and struggling to walk beneath her own weight, sucking sugar from the fingertips of her doting Orlesian…lover?

She flushed, swallowing, her lips dusty with crumbs. “more,” Bethany croaked, and Annalise grinned sunnily down at her as she snagged the next plate.

“Look at you, all sweet and round,” Annalise said. She shifted a bit and set the full plate of sugar-dusted treats next to her hip so she could feed Bethany with one hand and— _Maker yes_ —brush her fingertips over the painfully swollen crest of Bethany’s gut with her other. Finely shaped nails scratched over the straining cloth, teasing abstract designs against bloated skin and softly fattened flesh alike. She cupped the gravid shape of her, gave it a little wobble and pat, tested its weight and even, once, slapped the drum-tight curve sharply.

_That_ made Bethany cry out amongst a mouthful of sinful chocolate, even as her body went liquid with rising heat. She stared at her friend, watching the way Annalise carefully caressed across her belly button only to _smack_ her again, right at the meatiest part of her hip.

It wasn’t enough to truly hurt, and she was being careful—so careful—not to jostle Bethany’s overpacked belly too much. Bethany couldn’t help but feel like Annalise knew exactly where and how hard she could hit, as if she’d been here before with some other girl or boy…but then Annalise’s hand was sliding down _down_ between Bethany’s chubby thighs to skate perilously close to her apex, and any thought of what Annalise may or may not have done before drifted away like smoke.

“Just a little more,” Annalise assured her, pinching Bethany’s inner thigh as if to test the soft padding gathered there. “Come on, my dear little piggy. Show me what you can do. You want out of that terribly tight thing, no?”

_Yes._ Bethany opened her mouth wide, accepting everything Annalise fed her without question. She could feel her overpacked belly expanding, could hear the fine material protesting, could see the delight in Annalise’s eyes as she grew and grew and _grew_ , belly somehow bloating bigger with each minute that passed until Bethany swore she couldn’t possibly get any more stuffed…and then inching bigger _again_ as if to prove her wrong. She was sweating heavily now, and panting, and _moaning_ , and still Annalise fed her—rubbing her shiny-tight gut even as she stuffed her full of too many sweets, growing her with every bite.

“You are so sweet,” Annalise told her, watching Bethany with fervent eyes. “You are so greedy. What a monstrous little pig you are, growing so very round. If I asked you to roll over, you wouldn’t even be able to move, would you? Ah, but you have eaten yourself too fat to get up—you should be ashamed of how much you have let yourself go, my darling.” She leaned in to press her lips to Bethany’s ear, breath hot against her skin even as she continued to feed her bite after bite. “Burst out of this nightrail and I will take you with me to the summer manor,” Annalise whispered. “I will show you things you could never dream of if you only do this one thing for me. If you only—”

_RIIIIIP._

Bethany cried out, shocked and nearly euphoric with relief the moment the straining pink-and-white nightgown split right down the middle—right over the hugely straining mound of her stuffed belly. It surged forward, freed, the tattered remains of cloh falling away to reveal flushed skin stretched so far it had a sheen to it.

Panting, face covered in crumbs and powdered sugar, Bethany stared down at her own body as if it were someone else’s, marveling at how _pregnant_ she looked. Not fat—not like this, at least; that would come later—but gravid with child, as if this strangely sensual experience had filled her up with more than cakes.

Annalise’s hand fluttered down to rest on the peak of Bethany’s belly, cool fingers softly exploring the flushed-hot skin, and it felt so Maker-taken good that Bethany moaned loudly, head falling back and eyes closing in bliss. She swore she could feel the solid underhang of that swollen belly rest briefly against her lap, and it felt like such a harbinger of things to come that she arched her hips to chase the sensation—loving, in that moment, the feeling of being helplessly pinned beneath her own excess, cared for by the woman she was realizing she desperately wanted to love her.

Swollen and aching and well on her way to being truly fat.


	9. Chapter 9

“Bethany,” Marian said from where she sat perched on Bethany’s bed, watching her finish packing for her long summer away, “I…thought maybe we should talk? Before you go?”

Bethany paused, hands stilling over bright blue satin. She’d sensed this talk coming for weeks now—ever since she’d come home the morning after eating herself out of Annalise’s nightrail, stomach still swollen and tender in the aftermath—but a part of her had hoped she’d manage to make it safely away unscathed.

_Tomorrow morning._ In just a few short hours, she and Annalise would be alone together on the long carriage ride toward the summer manor, where all sorts of deliciously wicked things would no doubt be waiting for her. Endless parties that stretched from noon to dawn and beyond…dancing under the starlight and swapping forbidden kisses with strangers behind a hedge…floating high on too much champagne and snuggling close to the woman who made her pulse leap, letting Annalise press brightly colored treats past her parted lips and massage away the sting.

This pseudo-courtship they had circling entirely around dissolute hedonism was strange, yes, but it was the most exciting thing Bethany had ever experienced, and she fully planned on taking full advantage of the entire long summer, even if meant she came back to Kirkwall damn near unrecognizable.

What was a little (a lot of) weight compared to the experience she was embarking on?

“Bethany,” Marian said again, breaking into increasingly feverish fantasies of Annalise pressing her lithe body up against hers, lips warm and soft against her skin as she whispered filth into her ear. “Are you listening to me?”

“What, I mean, yes,” Bethany said. She mentally shook away the languid haze and refocused on folding the last dresses Mother had gotten made for her. They were almost ridiculously tent-like, the sides able to be folded and laced about her body and yet easily let out more and more without the need of damaging needle and thread. _As if Mother fully expects me to gain near a hundred pounds while I’m away_ , Bethany thought, and refused to pay attention to the spike of alarmed heat that zinged through her core. She cleared her throat. “I’m listening.”

Marian shifted to rest her elbows on her knees, frowning across the room at Bethany. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?” She rose, similarly tent-like nightrail settling around her. There was so much fabric, it barely skimmed over all the new curves she was developing what seemed like daily. Still, Bethany could feel her sisters’ critical eye on her body as she moved to her wardrobe to check that she hadn’t forgotten anything.

“I know you think you have friends in high society,” Marian said, “but you have to know they’re using you.”

_I want her to use me._ Bethany let the open wardrobe door hide her face as she studied the shelves and few remaining hanging clothes—most of them dresses she was perilously close to outgrowing. _Plump_ was a kind understatement for her body lately; even when she wasn’t around Annalise and being tempted by too many fine things, Bethany was extremely aware of the ever-increasing heft to her form. The small rolls at her sides had bloomed into a true muffin top and love handle. Her arse had practically exploded into what could euphemistically be called “womanly hips”. Her tummy was a pudgy pot, too big to be called a stomach anymore, though not quite big enough yet to be a true _belly_. Her arms were rounder. Her shoulders were softer. And when she saw herself in a mirror, there was no denying the flashes of second chin threatening to round out her face.

She was tipping over into all-new territory, and Bethany couldn’t blame her sister for watching her quickly expand and not be worried.

Still. This was what she _wanted_ ; how could she make Marian see that?

“I know what I’m doing, Marian,” Bethany said, snagging a blue shawl and stepping away from the wardrobe. She closed its heavy wood door and carefully did not meet her sister’s eyes as she crossed to her trunk and set the softly folded material inside. “You have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Marian protested. “I’m just…worried you may be jumping into a deep end you can’t swim out of, that’s all. These summer parties are…intense, and they go on for so long.”

_And you’ve already swollen up like a tick in half the time_ , Bethany mentally supplied. She bit the inside of her mouth and carefully shut the lid of her trunk. She wished she had the words to describe why that idea wasn’t frightening for her. Mortifying, yes, but that shame and embarrassment had somehow become part of the fun with Annalise. It was all part of the same spark, like when Annalise called her _piggy_ and swatted her rump…or looked like maybe, this time, _finally_ she would lean in and kiss Bethany with all the passion she swore was building between them.

_I love her_ , Bethany didn’t know how to say. _Please understand._

“You have to trust me to know what’s best for me,” Bethany settled on, finally looking over to meet her sister’s eyes. “Just like I trust you to know what’s best for _you_.”

Marian sighed and scooted off the bed, coming to wrap her arms around Bethany’s waist. She gave her a tight squeeze, pulling her against the hard, slim lines of her body. “I trust you,” Marian promised, pressing a kiss against Bethany’s temple. “I love you. I just worry, that’s all.”

Bethany slid her arms around her older sister and squeezed her back, keenly aware of the differences between them: Marian slim and athletic and tall, Bethany soft and round and petite. Looking at them side by side now, you could barely tell they were related.

That shouldn’t have been so intriguing.

“Don’t worry about me,” Bethany said, hugging Marian just as tight as she could. “Enjoy causing trouble in Kirkwall and know I’ll be in the countryside having the time of my life.” And, if she was lucky, discovering just how deep this secret un-Hawke-like inner well of deviancy and dissolution could go.


	10. Chapter 10

Her trunks had been sent ahead, so all Bethany had was a travel carpetbag slung over the crook of her arm as she hurried across the pre-dawn-lit Hightown cobblestones. The city was still mostly asleep, starlight shining down and the eastern sky only just beginning to pale.

A single carriage waited in front of Annalise’s home. The rest of her family had already gone ahead, Bethany knew, leaving just the two girls to travel together. The thought of those long, long hours trundling over open countryside with the two of them locked together in a small, dim carriage had her heart nearly bursting from her chest, and Bethany gave a breathless laugh as she picked up speed, all but racing the last few feet to where Annalise’s door hung open.

The footman spotted her, bowing and taking her simple bag from her. Arms free, Bethany reached up to brush back her loosely flowing hair, casting about for her friend. She’d chosen to wear one of her new dresses, the laces a contrasting deep plum against delicate lavender, embroidery on the swooping neckline. Impulsively, Bethany gave the front of her dress a tiny tug, letting that neckline expose more of her deep cleavage.

One decided bonus to gaining so much weight.

There was a soft huff of laughter from behind her, and Bethany spun, startled, to see Annalise coming down the steps to greet her. She was radiant in white and ice blue, every inch of her almost too beautiful to be believed. Her sweet smile spread as she locked eyes with Bethany, and everything inside Bethany stilled in response. _Maker_ , the way this Orlesian girl made her feel—it should have been criminal.

Bethany began to step forward to join Annalise, but Annalise surprised her by rushing down the last few steps and taking Bethany’s hand. She slipped past her, swinging Bethany in her wake in a flurry of dark hair and lavender cloth. “Where are we going?” Bethany laughed, stumbling after her friend.

“Shh!” Annalise laughed back, darting around a marble column before suddenly zeroing in on a large hanging tapestry. The halls were abuzz with staff getting everything ready, but as Annalise tugged Bethany into the hidden copse behind the tapestry, the whole world seemed to grow dark and still. It was impossible to tell there were people walking by just a few steps away—not when her ears were ringing with their mingled breaths and her heart was pounding near out of her chest.

“What are you doing?” Bethany asked, voice a whisper. It felt right to whisper in here.

Annalise let go of her hand, shaking her head sadly. “I was going to wait, you see,” she said with a grave inflection to her lilting accent. “Until we reached the manor. I had _plans_. But then there you were, standing there so prettily, looking so very soft.” She reached up to catch the fluttering end of a ribbon decorating the bodice of Bethany’s dress, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger; as she did so, her knuckles grazed a bare expanse of cleavage, causing everything inside Bethany to suddenly tighten. “How could I resist?”

“Resist what?” Bethany whispered. She wet her bottom lip. It was dim here, but Annalise was so luminous there was no missing her.

A single blonde brow rose. “I think you know,” Annalise said. She dropped the ribbon and deliberately stepped close—close enough that their bodies were nearly pressed together—both hands dropping to Bethany’s waist. Slowly, she spread her palms and slid them down the exaggerated flare of Bethany’s hips, fingertips digging into the soft padding there. Her eyes dropped to Bethany’s mouth.

Bethany gasped.

A wicked smile curled Annalise’s mouth, and she gave Bethany’s sides a soft squeeze before taking that last half-step and seaming their bodies together. Bethany was all too aware of the soft give of her flesh against Annalise’s slender frame, the way her tummy and breasts molded to fit—but she barely had time to even think about that contrast of plush and lean before Annalise was finally, finally _kissing her_. Slow and immediately deep. Gasping breaths leading to a stroke of tongue as Annalise took everything she wanted in a heartbeat— _sweet_ and hot enough to curl Bethany’s toes, everything inside her melting immediately in response.

She felt a wicked thrum of desire at the stroke, stroke of Annalise’s clever tongue against hers—felt her core go wet and her nipples tight—felt a hunger unlike anything she’d ever experienced overwhelm her. She pressed closer, grabbing for Annalise, and tried to kiss back with everything she was. _Moaning_ in response and already mentally shedding her clothes and offering herself up as sacrifice to propriety.

But Annalise pulled away before Bethany could completely lose her head, soft blue eyes bright and wicked smile _slick_ with Bethany’s spit. She laughed and rubbed the back of her hand against her lips. “If I’m not careful, I’ll ruin the game before it even begins,” Annalise said nonsensically. Then, “Follow me, dearest,” before she ducked out of the little hidden copse, leaving Bethany aching and panting and swaying in response to the earthquake that had just shaken apart her life.

It took a few moments to regather her composure and adjust herself so it wasn’t obvious she was still a walking ache. Thankfully, Annalise was already waiting in the carriage, so all Bethany had to do was rush past the knowing staff and scurry in after her friend, letting the door click shut behind her and leaving them in pre-dawn dim. Annalise smiled indulgently at her from where she sat on the opposite bench, before rapping her knuckles against the ceiling in signal.

There was the sound of a whip and the carriage lurched before moving forward.

Their journey was finally beginning.


	11. Chapter 11

Bethany sat and stewed in silence as they crossed over from Kirkwall (taking a ferry across choppy waves) and began the long, long ride that would lead them to the summer manor. She kept squirming in place, desire banked but not completely gone. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen and she had the wildest urge to reach down and touch them. Maybe spread her thighs and slide back, eyes going heavy-lidded in welcome as she…she _touched herself_ for Annalise.

The idea was mind-melting, but Bethany had no experience with these sorts of things—this morning had been her very first kiss!—so she kept her hands tightly knotted in her lap and simply squirmed in her seat as the sun began to slowly rise, its rays pouring through the open windows and catching in Annalise’s hair.

For the first few miles, there were people milling about the main road—small towns cropping up on the outskirts of Kirkwall’s territory. But before long, they left civilization behind and there was just rolling fields of green for as far as Bethany could see. The sky was a brilliant blue and a cool wind flowed through the open windows, fluttering the ends of her hair. Pleasant, as far as long journeys went.

Finally, a good hour out of Kirkwall and safely away from all humanity, Annalise cleared her throat. “So,” she said, voice surprisingly throaty. “I was not supposed to kiss you yet.”

_Yet_? Bethany wanted to ask, but there were far more pressing questions tumbling through her head first. “Why did you do it?” she asked, before quickly adding, breathless, “I would so like for you to do it again.”

“It is like I said,” Annalise said. “You looked so lovely and soft and tempting, I could not resist you. But,” she added quickly, holding up a hand when Bethany started to slide off her seat to join Annalise on hers, “I really _should_ try to resist as much as I can, for just a bit longer.”

“Why?” Bethany asked, freezing perched at the edge of her seat. Her lips actually tingled with the desire to be kissed again. “You must know I want you to do it.” _You must know I want you._

“I do.” The words were accompanied by an indulgent smile. “I have for a very long time.”

“Then why haven’t you kissed me before?” It was frustrating to think that they may have both wanted to escalate this thing between them for quite some time and yet…hadn’t for some unknown reason. “Why haven’t you…ah, touched me? You can. You can do whatever you want with me.”

Annalise gave a breathless laugh, cheeks flushing pink and eyes gone deliciously dark. “Oh, the tempting things you say, my darling little piggy,” she murmured. “All the experiences you try to gobble up like the hedonist I knew you were from the very moment we met. You remember, yes? That night I first found you?” She sighed and reached across the small divide, clever fingers catching at one of the colorful laces at Bethany’s side. She gave the ribbon a tug, then another, unknotting the ties easily.

Bethany’s heart began to race. “What are you doing?” she asked, even as she let Annalise tug the second lace free. The cinched fabric loosened and billowed around her in a large tent as Annalise untied the laces holding her dress’s shape.

“Take off your dress,” Annalise said by way of answer. “And your chemise. But leave on your breastband, your pantaloons, and your hose.” The spike of pure _want_ that struck Bethany nearly had her moaning. “Sit across from me only in these things, and I will tell you the compromise I have decided to make.”

Bethany lurched into action. She barely bothered glancing out the window to make sure no one was there to see inside their carriage as she pulled off her dress and pushed it aside, followed by her chemise. She felt wild, unbridled, as she sat across from Annalise in the carriage in only her underthings, softening body on full display.

The breastband held her cinched a bit, but her tits had grown large enough that the line of her cleavage was ridiculously deep. And though she wore a pair of brand knew pantaloons with an extremely roomy waist held tight by ribbon, her tummy pressed over the edge of the waistband. Unstuffed, it was buttery soft and pale—a bit doughy in appearance, with a thicker roll stretching from it around her wide hips. It trembled with each bounce of the carriage, soft fat jiggling and jostling as they trundled along.

Annalise’s eyes zeroed in toward it immediately. “Oh, look at that,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingertips teasingly light across the soft pooch. “Look at just how sweet my piggy is. Tell me: did you ever think you’d let yourself get so fat?”

The question was nonchalant, but it made desire burn low in her gut. “No,” Bethany breathed, squirming a bit under Annalise’s steady attention. She impulsively thrust out her tummy, letting it fill the other girl’s hand. “But I’ll let you make me so much fatter if you’ll just kiss me again.”

The other girl’s smile was quick and feral. “Oh, I will kiss you again,” Annalise promised, giving Bethany’s tummy a squeeze and a deliberate jiggle. “And I will do _so_ much more: you and I are going to have so much fun this summer. But I do have to be a _little_ good until we reach the manor, so I have a compromise.” She let go and held up a finger when Bethany began to protest. “We have many, many hours and many, many miles before we reach the summer home, so I propose a little game to help pass the time. Yes?”

“Anything,” Bethany agreed, aching.

Annalise laughed. “I have never met anyone so _eager_ to be ruined as you,” she tutted, then turned to pull out one of several small chests from under her bench seat. Annalise set it next to her and pushed open its hinges to reveal…

Bethany’s stomach grumbled at the scent of pastry and spiced meat. Annalise grinned. “Here are the rules of the game. I will kiss you every mile we pass. That is many, many kisses—enough to satisfy even a greedy little piggy like you. But in order to earn those kisses, you must be eating the rest of the time. If you go too long without a bite, well…” She spread her hands and mock-pouted. “There is no kiss for you. You will put back on your pretty dress and we will talk of other things the rest of the way. But if you manage to steal all the kisses, then at the very end of our trip, when you are swollen big and ripe and drunk off excess, I will reach beneath your tight belly and use my fingers to make you feel very, very good.” Her grin widened. “This is fair, no?”

_Oh Maker take me._ She could only just imagine what Annalise would do with those fingers…and Andraste but she wanted desperately to find out. Bethany tried to mentally map out just how many miles there were, how much food that would mean, how much space there might be in her stomach. Could she manage it? Or would she fail before the end and lose this game?

Eyes fixed on Annalise’s prettily curved mouth, all Bethany could do was nod. There was no way she was going to miss the opportunity to discover where this particular deviant game led. “That’s fair,” Bethany said, the cool wind brushing across her mostly naked flesh. Daring much, she inched up to the edge of her seat and reached across the carriage to run her knuckles along Annalise’s sharp jawline, loving the way blue eyes fluttered closed in response. _A kiss every mile_ … Void, but she couldn’t wait. “I’m ready.”


	12. Chapter 12

Bethany would always remember that carriage ride as a sensual yet painful haze.

The first mile was simple. She was hungry, and Annalise wasn’t pushing her to eat fast. That let Bethany savor the anticipation, heavy-lidded eyes meeting Annalise’s as she chewed and chewed and swallowed delicious flaking pastry, glad her new dress was safely put aside even if it was strange to be half-bare in an open carriage with her fully dressed new lover. But that was all worth it at the first mile passed, when Annalise slide forward and softly brushed their mouths together in the briefest, most sizzling of kisses.

Then more pastry, followed by a pull of water and a sipping kiss that had tongues brushing once before retreating.

The third mile: cheese and fruit, followed by fingers in her hair and teeth against her lower lip.

The sixth mile: spun sugar and sticky kisses, the languid glide gone impossibly sweet.

Ten miles, fifteen, twenty, onward. The day passed in an orgy of incredibly slow stuffing and incredibly _hot_ kisses. Hands came into play as Bethany’s stomach began to inflate outward, soothing over the rounding bulge and massaging away that too-full feeling. Somewhere along the way, Annalise slid down to the floor and knelt between Bethany’s widely splayed thighs, one hand fondling her expanding potbelly while the other passed her treat after treat. It was getting harder to lean down for kisses—her bloated stomach protesting at every jostle—but that just somehow made it all the more exciting. Her pantaloons were sodden with her excitement and each soft afternoon, then early evening breeze made her shiver. Gooseflesh broke across Bethany’s bare skin, and by the time the sun had fully set, she was cradling her own massively packed gut and softly belching into her fist.

A whole day had been spent in tortuously slow kisses and eating, and Bethany swore she’d never been this full in her life. When she slowly blinked open her eyes and looked down her own body at Annalise kneeling between her thighs, she saw a portrait of pure ruin. Void, but she looked hugely pregnant, the massive jut of her gut soaring out from swollen tits to nestle between her thighs. The bare skin was shiny with the strain and flushed red. Deepening lines spanned out from her belly button—stretch marks practically growing before her eyes. She was forced back into a half-reclined pose, arcing potbelly rising like a dome before her, and _oh fuck_ she was going to get so fat from all this. Bethany could hardly believe this body was her own; it seemed alien and detached from the vision she had of herself.

“What a good little piggy you are,” Annalise breathed, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses across the straining skin. As it grew harder and harder for Bethany to lean down for kisses, Annalise had started leaving trails of fire across her sensitized flesh. When her tongue flicked out to tease the rim of Bethany’s belly button, she swore she felt her inner core pulse in response. “What a sweet, fat little dear. Derrin is going to be so very pleased I found you.”

_Who_ , Bethany thought muzzily, but she was too deep into the groove of reaching and biting and chewing and swallowing to ask. The carriage rolled steadily beneath her, and the sky was dark with stars, and she was _absolutely massive_. A huge, swollen mockery of herself, belly extending well beyond her body and _aching_ something deep as she forced herself to keep going. Another pastry. More crumbs scattered across her lips and chest. Her plump thighs spread wider. Her stomach pushing out, grown until it felt like it dwarfed the rest of her body.

Maker, she was practically nothing but stomach from this angle, Annalise’s hands gently kneading and framing its impressive girth—her tongue swirling maddening patterns against the stretched-tight skin as the early evening slid into night and Bethany was lost in a haze.

By the end, she couldn’t even find the strength to lift her arm and feed herself—Annalise had to slide up onto the seat next to her, Bethany slumped against her body and groaning between each chew as the other girl slipped morsels past her lips. Her rounded paunch sat fully in her lap like this, and her thighs were splayed wide to try to alleviate the strain. She was in endless aching pain and pleasure, each jerk of the carriage arching through her, each melting kiss soothing away the strain. Her skin was soaked with sweat and she huffed and puffed her breaths, barely holding on—and only hazily aware of voices somewhere not far away. Lights bloomed on the horizon like fireflies, and it had to be nearly midnight, but the lawn of the great manor house was lit like it was day.

Annalise pressed a soft kiss to Bethany’s crumb-coated lips and licked away the traces of sugar. “We’re almost here, my sweet,” she murmured. “You made it. And now I have a treat for you, yes?”

In her muddled state, _a treat_ translated into _yet more food_ , and even though she was well beyond capacity—had been forced to drink stamina potions and elfroot just to keep up with the forced expansion of her body—Bethany obediently opened her mouth for more.

And _gasped_ when clever, slender fingers wriggled past the now completely pulled open drawstring of her pantaloons and beneath the balloon of her belly to slide between her thighs.

She’d been slick for hours and hours now, keyed up by the combination of kisses and illicit feeding. Swollen in every way, her clit a constant throb that _spiked_ into unbelievable pleasure the moment Annalise’s fingertip circled it. She felt that touch lurch through her, and Bethany _moaned_ loud and wanton—hair sticking to her forehead, breasts heaving near out of the too-tight breastband, belly surging up, plumps thighs squeezing tight. She grabbed for Annalise’s hand, fingers curling around her thin wrist as she pushed _hard_ against the desperately needed stimulation—body shuddering in endless waves upon wobbling _waves_ as Bethany came with a keen in full view of anyone who dared look in the carriage as they trundled down the path.

She didn’t see them; she didn’t care. All that mattered was that perfect dissolve into pleasure as Annalise twisted her fingers deep inside her…then slowly pulled back as the quakes of orgasm gentled into heaving breaths and giddy, gasping laughter.

She felt… Bethany had no words for how she felt. _Like a massive cow_ , maybe, ready to give birth to an entire litter, but also like she was flying high over the rolling hills and lakes. Blissfully fat and happy with a lover who played her body like a lute.

Annalise laughed softly with her, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before deliberately—provocatively—pushing her slick fingers into Bethany’s mouth.

“One last bit of dessert,” she purred, and Bethany sucked her fingers clean with a helpless moan, unaware of the carriage pulling to a final rocking stop. She was barely aware of anything, really, until Annalise was pulling back and sitting primly away just as the carriage door opened and the steps were kicked down.

“My lady,” the footman said, offering a hand in and completely ignoring the ruin of crumbs and empty boxes scattered everywhere.

Annalise winked at Bethany, then reached out and took the man’s hand, letting him help her step down. Bethany felt a spike of aghast shock when she realized exactly what was happening, but there was no time to do anything but ineffectually try to hoist herself up into a sitting position, her eyes casting around for her dress… Maker, _where was her dress?_

The footman cleared his throat, and the _shame_ that crashed over her as this stranger looked at her bloated, half-naked form was so intense it was almost like a second orgasm. She felt it shattering through her, so intense she swayed with it…but when he held out his hand to her, Bethany reached out and _took it_ , letting the footman haul her awkwardly up to her feet and through the carriage door.

She staggered when she hit the ground, center of balance thrown off by the gravid pull of her stuffed gut, but he seemed to realize she’d need help. He caught her elbow and kept her upright, holding her steady as Bethany wobbled and swayed on noodly legs.

The night air was almost cold now, and there were _people_ milling about in gorgeous dresses and Orlesian masks. Eyes turned her way, taking in the fat nearly naked girl practically ready to pop before them—but Bethany barely had time to shrivel up and die inside before her attention was caught by Annalise.

“Derrin!” her new lover cried, sprinting away from the carriage and toward a strapping young man with brilliant flame-colored hair. He turned at the sound of his name, grinning, and as he swept Annalise up into a passionate embrace (mouths meeting, fingers in hair, shameless in their joy), Bethany realized two very important things:

One, this _Derrin_ was Annalise’s fiancé—trim and gorgeous and rich and powerful and clearly just as mad for Annalise as Bethany was herself.

And two…she was way, way out of her league here, the clear loser of some game she didn’t realize she was playing.

The footman tightened his grip on her elbow. “I will show the madame to her room,” he said stiffly, giving a tug, and Bethany tore her gaze away from Annalise and Derrin’s passionate embrace to slink away into the shadows in defeat. …or, rather, to _waddle_ awkwardly from the bright circle of powerful Orlesian nobles, who whispered behind their hands as they watched the bloated, fat, all-but-naked Ferelden girl disappear into the night to sleep off her shame and a belly full of sweet things turning instantly sour.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite the magnitude of her heartbreak, Bethany slept for a very, very long time. It was easy enough in a bed as soft and big and lavish as the one she was given—even after crying herself out, she couldn’t help but curl her toes against silken sheets and sink bonelessly against a feather mattress. It was a level of opulence she had never experienced, and if she weren’t in so much pain…literally and metaphorically…she might have been having the time of her life.

But she did ache, all over, even when she blinked open her eyes many, many hours later to find the sun was setting again and her supposed friend was perched on a nearby chair, idly sucking peach juice off her fingers as she read a book.

Bethany watched the dying sunlight catch in Annalise’s golden hair as it streamed through the windows. She looked so beautiful it hurt to see, the lithe lines of her body curled up on an oversized blue chair, her pretty face relaxed in repose. One loose coil of hair teased at the line of her cleavage, and Bethany so wanted to brush it away and press her lips to that spot—

—only Annalise had been toying with her all this time, hadn’t she? She’d been slowly pretending to befriend her, _seduce_ her, only to fatten her up and make her the laughingstock of some sick Orlesian game. It was enough to make Bethany feel ill.

She turned her face away, eyes burning with renewed tears. The motion must have been enough to alert Annalise; Bethany heard the book close and bare feet hit the floor. There was a soft rustle, and then Annalise was climbing into the bed next to her, _smiling_ as if she hadn’t broken Bethany’s heart.

“I was wondering if you would sleep the rest of the summer!” Annalise said brightly, leaning in to brush their mouths together.

Bethany froze. Of every response she had been braced for, feigned ignorance wasn’t one of them. Did Annalise not realize she’d _seen_ her with Derrin? She began to struggle up, ungainly still thanks to her stomach, which (thank the Maker) was still bloated but nowhere near as ridiculously huge as it had been when she’d waddled helplessly to bed the night before. She dropped a hand down to help settle herself, fingers digging into the plush ball of fat gathered there. Proof of her devotion to this girl. “I’m surprised you noticed,” she said pointedly. “I thought you might be busy with your fiancé.”

“Oh, I was,” Annalise agreed easily, waving that away as if it meant nothing. Bethany could only gape at her. “But there are only so many hours you can give to a boy, no?” She winked as if that were some kind of fun joke between them. “And besides, eventually he had to go back to his Claudette.”

“I…” She reached up to rub at her brow, thoroughly confused. “Who is Claudette?”

Annalise grinned sunnily and snuggled closer, one arm sliding possessively around Bethany’s waist. The other batted Bethany’s hand away so Annalise could rest a palm against her soft belly. She gave a deliberate squeeze and stroke, as if testing its softness and heft. “Claudette is my Derrin’s lover, of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

“His…” Bethany knew she should push Annalise away—should protest what was happening here—but something about the way the other girl touched her like this sent embers rustling through her blood. She found herself shifting unconsciously, arching up subtly into the touch until she was all but pushing out her belly into Annalise’s palm. “His _lover_?”

Annalise trailed her fingers down the outer curve of Bethany’s belly, and practically cooed in approval when she discovered the rounded crease where it folded. Maker, she was fat enough that her belly actually hung a tiny bit now. “Oh, yes. Derrin and Claudette have been together many, many years. He could not possibly leave her behind in Orlais, no matter how difficult bringing her here proved to be.” She grinned brightly, a dimple flashing, and pressed a kiss to Bethany’s cheek, then her jaw. “You are much easier to move, my darling piggy.”

“But…” She didn’t understand Orlesians. “Derrin is _your_ fiancé.”

“Yes,” Annalise agreed, kissing Bethany’s neck. Her lips were soft and hot against her skin, and the way clever fingers jiggled soft flesh before sliding down to stroke her thighs made Bethany squeeze her eyes shut and moan. “And he loves me very much too. But I could not ask him to choose me over Claudette any more than he would ask me to choose him over _you_.”

That felt remarkably like a serious confession of something, though Bethany’s skin was flushed too hot for her to notice. The pain in her belly was all but gone when Annalise touched her, and she felt a rising urgency between her thighs. She wanted those fingers on her again—in her. She wanted both of them to strip naked and… “So you’re _not_ making a joke of me?” Bethany gasped, thighs spreading as Annalise tugged the slit in her pantaloons open to find her wet and swollen.

Annalise paused, lifting her head to stare down at her. Blonde brows were drawn together in confusion. “Why ever would you think that?” she demanded, almost sounding hurt.

Bethany squirmed. “I…when I saw you kissing him,” she admitted, “I thought maybe this was all some…some sort of game for you. Like you were, um, fattening me up and kissing me just to parade me around for everyone to laugh at. You know, the stupid, Ferelden cow.”

Annalise pulled her hand away, nearly making Bethany whimper in disappointment. Her jaw was set, firm. “There are many things you do not understand,” she said, crossing her arms. “And it seems I am one of them. I did not bring you here to make a joke of you. And no one will dare laugh. I _am_ fattening you up,” it was shocking to hear her admit as much, though it had been obvious enough to Bethany by now that’s what was happening, “and I _will_ kiss you and I _will_ parade you around for others to stare at, but it will not because I am laughing. Come,” she added, sliding off the bed. “I think you will understand if you see.”

“But,” Bethany murmured in protest, even as she climbed out of the bed. Her legs stiff felt wobbly beneath her, and her head swam. Her whole body still ached with desire. “I’m not dressed.” She gestured to herself—the loosened breastband, the pantaloons unlaced and still rolling down under the heft of her pooching belly. Surprisingly heavy ( _bigger than before?_ ) love handles rounded out over the sides, and her hair was a wild dark mass about her round-cheeked face.

Annalise held out her hand impatiently, however, and Bethany took it, letting herself be tugged out of the lavish bedroom suite and _half-naked_ into the halls of the manor. That was the level of power this girl had over her. “That hardly matters,” Annalise assured Bethany. “You are more dressed than some others, believe me. If anyone notices, it will just be to think how lovely you look.”

Bethany rather doubted anyone could look at her, dumpling that she was, and think she looked anything close to _lovely_. But she gripped Annalise’s fingers tighter and let herself be led down halls and through a series of rooms until they reached a palatial drawing room with the palest pink walls and a ceiling all but dripping with crystal chandeliers. There were people milling about here, many of them in Orlesian masks…and, yes, a few of them scantily dressed themselves. One woman leaned back against the glass window and smiled, naked except for the diamonds clinging to her skin like freckles. She caught the light, but even beautiful as she was, she was hardly the party’s center of attention.

_That_ honor went to the fattest woman Bethany had ever seen.

She stumbled to a stop at the sight, sucking in a surprised breath. There was really no other reaction possible when faced with such improbably enormity. The woman was pale and red-headed, ginger curls delicately coiling across rounded shoulders. A massive diamond bib necklace hung from a thick neck, the first rungs on it half hidden by the lowest of several chins. Full lips were painted red and slick with grease, and round cheeks creased in a smile.

She was naked, too, though that took a moment to sink in. Reclining back on a pillowed dias, her voluptuous breasts hung thick and heavy, tipped by saucer-sized coral nipples. They were pillowed on the first of several folds of belly, each other bigger than the last, each one flowing down like an avalanche toward where the thick bottom swell rested on hugely meaty thighs. The woman’s belly was so big it covered her privates in an apron, giving her some amount of modesty despite her nudity. Fat fingers massaged at her own pale bloat and—incongruously—fat feet were shoved into bright red thin-strapped high heels.

The woman had to be five hundred pounds or more—possibly much more—and the man perched devotedly at her side, leaning over her bulk to pop a spoonful of something delicious-smelling into her mouth was…

“Oh,” Bethany breathed, seeing Derrin and Claudette together, seeing the adoring way they looked at each other, and seeing _herself_ reflected back in that massively obese form. She dropped her hands to her own belly instinctively, feeling its growing softness, and realized that in a few years from now, if her Orlesian lover had her way, Bethany would be the one lying sprawled on a dais, puffed up beyond all recognition, so fat she could barely move even as Annalise leaned over and pushed chocolates past her parted lips, chasing each bite with a kiss.

The extent of it, the _enormity_ both figurative and literal, was mind-boggling. Bethany couldn’t imagine herself ever getting so impossibly _fat_.

And yet…

Annalise leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You see? Derrin and I make a good match because we share so many things. Wealth, power, and taste in pretty girls. We are as devoted to our lovers as we are to each other.”

“You share Claudette,” Bethany murmured, still shocked immobile.

Annalise hummed. “We did,” she agreed. “But in truth, Claudette was always more his than mine. He loves her very much, as you can see. As everyone can see,” she added with a giggle. “No one looks at Claudette without taking stock of just _how much_ love he has poured into her over the years.”

A shiver worked its way down Bethany spine. “Are there others?”

“For sex, yes,” Annalise said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It seemed, for this set, it truly was. “But nothing longer than a few weeks diversion, usually. The two of us, we are romantics at the core. He has been so very happy I found _you_ , my darling, to shower all my love upon.”

_She loves me._ That shouldn’t have been what Bethany focused on—not with that immense vision of her future sprawled mountainous before her—but she couldn’t help herself. She turned to look at Annalise, feeling her heart winging in her chest. The other girl was smiling down at her so fondly it almost hurt to see, and Bethany couldn’t help but step into her waiting arms. So _what_ if Annalise had a future husband and other lover and…other pleasures on the side? It wasn’t Ferelden, it wasn’t what Bethany was used to, but it was also a little exciting if she were being honest with herself. The idea of sharing and maybe being shared someday. Of taking lovers but having Annalise always there, _in love_.

Maybe, even, of growing incredibly fat. That was the most forbidden thought of all, because it wasn’t what she _should_ have wanted, but if feeding her up and making her swell bigger and bigger was how Annalise _showed_ her love, then… Then maybe Bethany could play along for awhile longer. She could always tell her when she’d gad too much. She didn’t have to get as big as Claudette. “I love you, too,” Bethany said simply, smiling when Annalise _beamed_ at her, sunny and bright.

Annalise reached up and teasingly pinched that little fold of second chin, soft blue eyes dancing. “I know you do my darling,” she breathed, leaning in for a kiss that melted slowly into another, then another, then a slick tangle of tongues as she licked into Bethany’s mouth. Her hands slid down to deliberately cup and weigh her breasts, then down further to map over her hips and thighs—squeezing flesh, testing her, making her shiver in response.

Bethany was aware of eyes on them—including Annalise’s fiancé and his gloriously obese Claudette—but the gazes were so approving she couldn’t do anything but melt deeper into Annalise. Winding her arms around the other girl’s neck, letting her pantaloons be pushed down her rounded rump, pushing her soft belly forward when fingers pinched and squeezed the growing plushness there…making her moan as she was bared for a roomful of strangers, a plump Venus in their midst.

And Annalise whispering against her slick, parted lips: “And by the end of our stay here, my delicious little piggy, no one will _ever_ doubt how I feel for you.”


	14. Chapter 14

They were left to their own devices for the first many weeks of that sprawling bacchanal.

“Derrin knows how much I want to spoil you,” Annalise assured Bethany whenever she began to feel uncertain. It seemed strange to her that Derrin wouldn’t want to spend all of his time with his beautiful (perfect, sweet, _lovely_ ) fiancée, but the two of them seemed more than content to only steal a handful of hours for each other every few days—mostly, Bethany realized, when she herself was too drunk and exhausted and full to do more than sprawl naked in her bed and let the time pass in a blissful daze.

That was, truthfully, how much of those first heady weeks went. Bethany was brand new to this kind of wanton overindulgence, and Annalise seemed delighted by the idea of letting her drown in it to her heart’s content. They woke tangled together well past noon and immediately ordered a lavish feast, which would be eaten in bed (usually before a stitch of clothing was found, Annalise playfully licking crumbs off her cleavage and teasing her fingers along the pale bulge of her belly—and then down to dip into swollen heat, sending sparks swirling through her shivering flesh—as Bethany ate. And ate. And ate. Every bite she took was an extension of those wonderful caresses, and sometimes she swore Annalise timed it so Bethany only came _after_ she had reached her natural limit: gut rounded forward in an impressive heft, breaths coming in labored pants, cheeks flushed and mouth stained with kisses and syrup.

On those days, Annalise would gently push Bethany back amongst the pillows again and clean up her heaving belly one swirling lick at a time, eating her own “breakfast” from the comfortably plush cradle of Bethany’s growing thighs.

Then came a long nap, followed by sweet wake-up kisses and a bleary dressing for the day well past sundown. Those gowns her mother had gotten her proved Maker-sent here, the laces loosened up enough that the prominent wobble of her stuffed belly never felt too tightly cinched. At first, she felt highly self-conscious all but waddling around the Orlesian estate with so many beautiful (and trim) women swanning about, but all it took was a glass or three pressed into her hand and Bethany would feel herself relaxing. _Floating_ , her fingers tangled with Annalise’s and their heads tipped together as they whispered and giggled through the hazy summer evenings.

The wine flowed freely here, and sex was all around. It was shocking the first time she glanced over during an Antivan-style sprawled picnic and realized the thruple to her left was shedding their clothing, but Annalise just laughed and nudged Bethany’s dropped jaw back up again, whispering in her ear: “There is no pleasure denied here, my darling. Like bees we move from flower to flower and sip honey from their petals.”

And then, before Bethany could truly feel the burn of jealousy, a wink: “But there is only one flower that interests me now, yes?”

_Yes_. Her toes curled with the happiness of that thought, and she found herself tugging Annalise down onto the grass herself—or leaning in and playfully taking a bite from her fork—or deliberately falling back against the banquette and dropping her hands to her overstuffed gut with a belabored “ _Oof!_ ”, proving to her lover again and again and again just how much she was willing to give for her. Just how much she was willing to eat for her. Just how malleable she was to the Orlesian girl’s desires.

_See_ , she seemed to say with every feast and every drunken laugh and every star-bathed kiss, hands wandering possessively over the near-constant forward jut of her belly. _See how perfect a flower I can be for you; never leave me._

And even, shamefully, as she lay awake with Annalise curled in her arms, blonde head tucked beneath her chin: _Choose me over him._

Bethany tried to bury that thought just as hard as she could, smiling away the niggling worry even as days melted together in an endless stream of sweets and kisses and champagne and whispered endearments. She willfully let herself be pulled into the drugging routine of it, one endless summer day bleeding into the next.

In the end, the morning everything changed dawned just like any other.

She woke late, stretching and yawning, her stomach already rumbling its warning. Noonday light was streaming through her window, and her limbs felt deliciously heavy still with sleep as she lounged across the silken sheets, reveling in the feel of the rich fabric against her bare skin. The space next to her was empty, pillow dented but cooled, but that in itself wasn’t alarming—Annalise was probably just having their meal brought up.

Her tummy gave another gurgle, and Bethany dropped a hand down to give her flesh a poke. “Shush,” she said, then laughed when it immediately growled again. It was ridiculous to think she might still be hungry (famished, really) after the night she’d had, but it seemed Annalise had fully succeeded into turning her into a true little glutton.

A little piggy.

The thought made that familiar twin coil of mortification and desire curl low in her belly, wickedly intense, wickedly hot. That dual sense of embarrassment and defiant power came often now—whenever Annalise was whispering filth into her ear as Bethany allowed herself to be stuffed _right there_ , right in front of everyone…filling her more and more and more until she swore she might pop at any moment. Literally getting fatter in front of these strangers’ eyes and knowing every rounded inch was more of her ruin—and more proof of Annalise’s love.

Funny that Annalise’s love sat so heavy on her lap now.

Bethany stretched, toes curling against the sheets, and propped herself up on one elbow. She glanced toward the door, half expecting the thought to summon her lover, but it remained solidly closed. Frowning, she flopped down again and let herself spread indolently across the massive bed. It was unusual for her to have much time alone. Annalise was there when she woke and when she rolled into bed at night; she could count on one hand the number of times she’d been on her own since coming here.

The flicker of uncertainty made her stomach turn, so she closed her eyes and pushed it away. “Stop,” Bethany told herself firmly. “Just stop.” Desperate to force that niggle of worry and jealousy away ( _is she with him?_ ), she rolled over onto her side and curled up into a small ball, the way she used to when she was little.

Only… Her legs didn’t seem to want to curl up as snug to her chest as they used to.

Blinking open her eyes, Bethany stared down at her ruddy kneecaps—and the mounds of soft, pale flesh separating her face from them. It was surreal looking at herself this way, the round softness of her belly pushing out, resting against thoroughly chubby thighs. Her breasts were smushed tight between that and her chin, seemingly huge. For one bewildering second, Bethany looked down at herself and saw _only_ fat—rolling hills of flesh marred by pale pink stretch marks, delicate like the inside of a seashell.

She let out a slow, bracing breath and let herself uncurl, legs sliding down. That allowed her breasts and belly to settle into more human proportions, but, Maker, there really was no denying that she’d gained a _lot_ of weight already.

It wasn’t that Bethany didn’t realize she’d been getting fatter—that had been part of the point, after all—but in the endless haze of Annalise, it was easy to lose track. Now, as she rolled onto her back and watched the way her pale belly rose like a cloud above her, she couldn’t deny that _void take her_ she’d porked up almost alarmingly fast.

Her thighs were thick and dimpled, now, squishing together all the way down until only a few inches above her knees. Her hips (always her most vexing feature) had seemingly exploded out—wide and curving into what certainly felt like a meaty arse. She half-rolled onto her side and glanced over her shoulder best she could, giving a small huff of surprise at the sight of thick rolls and a rounded backside bigger than… Well, _bigger_ , certainly, than she’d ever dreamed even in her worst nightmares. (Back when she watched her weight with building anxiety, certain if she _let herself go_ too much, she’d never find a partner, a match, someone to love. Ironic, that.)

Lying like this, propped on her elbow, her tits pushed against the mattress and her belly pooled forward to brush cool silk. It was shocking to realize that even empty (hungry!), her soft tummy was big enough to rival her breasts like this. She felt lather like a beached fish struggling to right itself on land, or an overfed nug rooting about in a vegetable garden. She felt… _massive_ , and round, and helpless and powerful all at once. Such a good little piggy, gone and grown fat for the deviant love of her life.

“If your friends could see you now,” Bethany whispered, imagining just what they would say if they walked through that door and found Bethany like this: propped on one elbow and her chubby knees, thighs spread around the swing of her round ball of a gut, nipples going _tight_ as they brushed soft silk, breaths coming in increasingly ragged pants.

Andraste take her, they would be horrified by what they saw. The idea made Bethany’s stomach clench; it made her wet.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tucked her face down against the smash of her breasts, letting her forehead press against the mattress. She rose up a little higher onto her spreading knees, letting her rump rise into the air, and gave an experimental thrust forward. Her belly actually _swung_ below her, brushing over soft cloth. It felt heavy, tugging her forward despite herself, so full and plush and wicked, _wicked_. She was so _wicked_ to let herself get like this, and Bethany bit her bottom lip hard as she thrust a hand down to give herself a vicious squeeze.

Her belly more than overflowed her fist, soft and wobbly against her fingers: a cloud. A creampuff. She remembered Annalise’s tongue swirling along straining red lines before flickering once, twice into the cavern of her belly button, and the sensory image had Bethany grunting and curling her toes against unfurling pleasure. She panted weakly, shifting again, rolling her hips slowly as she fondled the hang of her belly—giving it a testing smack before letting it fwomp against the mattress. The heavy thud rocked through her, made her body pulse, and Maker, the way her friends would stare. The concerned noises they would make. The gentle, _Bethany, maybe you should stop letting that girl feed you,_ or _Kitten, don’t you think you’ve gotten fat enough,_ or, _heh, you look bloody pregnant there little Hawke,_ or, _Guess we can’t call you_ little _anything anymore, huh?_

The imagined mockery rang in her ears, accompanied by phantom pokes and prods and pinches. She wriggled against it, writhed, biting down on the fingers of one hand even as the other shoved between plush thighs. She was so wet she could hear the slippery glide, and Andraste take her, she was seconds away from—

Bethany heard the door creak, giving her just enough warning to roll awkwardly over. Her body shuddered and quaked with the movement, and Annalise paused in the doorway long enough to admire her, blue eyes gone smoky with appreciation. That knowing gaze lingered on tight nipples and thighs that squeezed together before returning to Bethany’s face. “Good morning, my little piggy,” Annalise said, smiling wide. She sailed away from the still-open door to come press a smacking kiss to Bethany’s parted lips.

Bethany was instantly overwhelmed by the scent of her—the taste of her, sugar on her tongue—and surged up, desperate for more. _Hungry_ for more. But Annalise was already pulling away with a sharp smack to Bethany’s bared belly, lips pulled into a wicked smile. “ _Someone_ woke famished today,” she purred.

“Yes,” Bethany murmured, hands sliding down to knead her own doughy belly. She was aware of that open door and servants moving in the hall, aware they could see her, judger her, but that awareness only made her body clench tighter. Maker, but she was keyed up. “I’m starved for you.”

Annalise gave her round, soft gut another, gentler smack—deliberately wobbling the heavy roll of fat—before moving away to Bethany’s wardrobe. “Then it is a good thing I plan to feed you until you burst,” she said with a laugh, throwing the doors open. “Come, let’s get you dressed.”

“Dressed?” Bethany echoed dumbly. Her thoughts were still too busy swirling around _feed you until you burst,_ and the images that evoked. “Are we…going somewhere?”

She glanced over her shoulder, smile mischievous. “We have a lunch date,” she purred. “And I am very glad you seem to have brought your appetite this day, love, because you will need it before this day is through.”

“A…lunch date?” That sounded more serious that the various meals they’d taken with this Orlesian lord or that Marcher noble.

“Mm,” Annalise agreed, turning back to her with Bethany’s best dress in hand. It was richly lined gossamer painted silk that clung perhaps a little too lovingly to her body. Even the laces that lined its sides could only give enough structure: it always felt like she was just shy of naked in that thing. “In the garden. It is a beautiful day, do you not think?”

She pushed herself up a little awkwardly, constant change in size making it difficult to be graceful. “I…all right,” Bethany said, sliding off the bed and going to snag her breastband and pantaloons.

Annalise gave her a swat on the rump before she could pull on her underthings. “Oh, you won’t be needing those,” she assured Bethany—and held out the paper-thin dress with a wicked grin. “Or a chemise, either. Derrin and Claudette deserve to see everything, do you not think?”

_Derrin._ The name made her insides twist in worry, and Bethany took the pretty dress with numb fingers, instantly overwhelmed. “I,” she began, but wasn’t able to find the words.

Her lover’s smile only widened, wicked and sweet, like a cat lapping at cream. “We have worked so hard these weeks to make you look like such a sweet cream puff,” she said, shooting Bethany’s belly a significant look. “Such a round little dear. Should we not show off all we have done?”


End file.
